


Thinking of You

by trillingstar



Series: Hardtime100 [13]
Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Care packages, Community: hardtime100, Flash Fic, Gen, Love Letters, M/M, Masturbation, Season/Series 06, Socks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-05
Updated: 2009-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:46:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4145187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the perks of Death Row is that the mail gets delivered in a timely fashion.  Or, the one where Toby sends socks and Keller's a self-proclaimed moron.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinking of You

**Author's Note:**

> Challenge #154: Care Packages; Beecher/Keller, O'Reily.  
> Word count: 825-ish.  
> 

  
Got a package from Beecher three days ago. First one since he got out. Haven't opened it yet, dunno why. Size of a shoebox with a long tear in the side. If he sent me anything good, it's gone. But he knows that. So it's probably nothing good anyway.

"The fuck you doing, K-boy?"

I glare up at O'Reily standing there with my dinner tray in hand. What business is it of his?

He nods at the box in my hands. "Fuckin' open it."

I glare at him again and show him the rip. "Already open."

He rolls his eyes. "Jesus Christ, Keller. You need some help with that? Want me to ask Lopresti if we can borrow a pair of scissors?"

Fucker.

The side splits open and a bunch of crap falls out. We study the pile on the bed. Deodorant, safety razors, shampoo, peanut butter cups, honey-roasted peanuts, and socks.

Be still my heart.

O'Reily coughs politely. "Hell, he probably, you know, had stuff on his mind." He reaches out and mimes a trade. "Gimme a peanut butter cup."

Picking up two, I hand one over so he'll go away.

Not even a letter?

I crush the other piece of candy in my fist, and then unwrap it and eat it anyway. Dumping everything back inside, I shove the box under the bunk.

*

Still no letters and definitely no phone calls up here on Death Row.

Second package arrives. I have a pretty good idea of what's inside. The only thing different is a little clip-on lamp, like the kind that Bonnie used to read in bed at night. I hold that back, and this time, I use the contents to make a couple trades for a skin mag and a new toothbrush. I'm about to give the second guy the socks for free; when I pick them up, I feel a lump in the toe. I clutch them tighter than when I hugged Toby goodbye.

I'm a fuckin' moron.

*

I gaze down at the newfound items from the toes of both pairs of socks: two letters, a folded envelope, and a small bottle of lotion. Uncreasing the envelope, I pull out two pictures and have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. They were rolled up with a rubber band, so I have to hold them to keep from curling. A picture of Toby staring straight at the camera, his blue eyes searching, warm, loving. My heart leaps into my throat and I stare at it for a long time.

Second picture makes my face hot, and I swallow with difficulty. It's not even dirty – just the long line of his back and a hint of the swell of his ass – and a look on his face that I know well. Fuck yeah. God, I love him.

*

Lights out and I can still see just fine, thanks to the new light. I got my pictures, the lotion... and I think about him and wish he was here.

 _Think of me while I'm thinking of you_ , the letter reads. _Love, Toby_.

Hope that means all the ways I'm thinking of fucking him open with my cock, 'cause right now all I want is to stare at his mouth and jack off.

Second letter. The one where he thinks I didn't get the first one.

_Chris, I really hope that you didn't trade away my nudie pics for toothpaste._

I picture the look on his face when he wrote that – slightly exasperated, hopeful, a little embarrassed – and just like that my cock's rock-hard and I push at it with my hand, cupping and holding.

_Sorry for sending all that filler but maybe if it's boring enough, it'll make its way to you, just like I'm working my way to see you. You wouldn't believe all of the bullshit and obstacles. Actually, you probably would, because otherwise I'd have been there by now. I'll tell you more when I'm touching you again. Are you lying back with your hand on your dick yet? Pretend I am too. Think of me. Don't forget. Toby._

I fold up the papers and pictures and put them back in the envelope.

Then I do what the man says and snap off the light, lie back and stroke myself. I don't need a picture to see his face, his open mouth, his wet cock, his firm ass. The lotion's cool against my hand, and as I start to thrust into my fist, I can smell it, it's something like baking or gingerbread, or... oh, god, it's the scent of Toby's dad's cologne.

My balls tighten, my stomach clenches and I shoot all over myself, nuzzling Toby, remembering our fight, the anger, the heat. The passion. Hit hard and hot, and I'm panting, trying to stay in the moment, how fierce Toby was, how sweetly he kissed.

*

I need him here with me. He said he's coming; he needs to hurry up. I'm waiting.  


**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on LJ](http://hardtime100.livejournal.com/283843.html).  
> 


End file.
